Midnight Music
by hevaann
Summary: House can't sleep. As always. Wilson can't sleep when House plays the piano. As always. What will he have to do to keep that man in bed...?


It had all started in the most innocent manner.

When Wilson had come to live with House following his most recent divorce, he was reminded of how much of an insomniac House was, and House was likewise reminded of how much of a worrier Wilson was.

So it came to pass that three days into his stay, Wilson had had enough of House playing the piano in the middle of the night, and had grounded the diagnostician to his bedroom between the hours of one and seven am.

So Wilson had dragged his pillow to the doorway of the room, and slouched sown against the frame.

"I can tell you're going to get a good night's sleep resting there." Came House's sarcastic droll from the direction of the bed.

"I'm working on the theory that if the temptation to play the piano is removed, you will get bored enough to fall asleep." Wilson adjusted the pillow in a vain attempt to get comfy.

"This assumption is obviously based on the fact you don't live with a chronic pain."

"I do live with a chronic pain, House; I live with you."

"Well that was original."

"Go to sleep."

"What if I promise not to play the piano?"

"In the unlikely event I believed you, I still would not move from this space."

"You're going to risk seriously damaging your back so I get a good night's sleep?"

"That's the type of self-sacrificing friend I am."

Minutes passed. Both men moved around in the hope of getting comfortable, but neither fell close to unconsciousness.

House broke the silence.

"As loath as I am to admit it, I'm not going to get any sleep worried about you lounging on the floor."

"Careful House, you're beginning to sound like you care."

More minutes passed.

Then there was the sound of objects being moved around on the bed.

"House, what are you doing?"

"I'm barricading my half of the bed."

"Your half?"

"Yes my half. That's your half." He indicted to the space on the other side of the pillow wall.

By now Wilson was too tired and too sore to argue. He pulled himself up off the floor and crawled into the vacant side of the bed.

"If I even hear you think about going to that piano, I will happily suffocate you with one of these oh-so-handy pillows." Wilson murmured, before falling almost instantaneously asleep.

House lay listening to the sound of his friend's breathing, not quite falling asleep himself, but enjoying the restful feeling it gave.

And so began a new routine. Every night Wilson would barricade the door, House would argue, and eventually they would end up tucked into the two sides of the bed.

Then, of course, there was the night everything changed.

"House, what are you doing?" Wilson asked, half lifting his head off the pillow to watch as House began to get up.

"Getting a glass of water. And I'm being almost truthful." He added, clutching his leg as a spasm of pain passed through it.

"I'm not letting you get out of this bed." Wilson threatened; reaching across the wall and pulling House back down onto the mattress by his shoulder.

"I'll get you one." He conceded, swinging his legs off the bed and sleepily trudging his way through to the kitchen. When he returned, glass of water in hand, House had already swallowed the Vicodin dry.

"I really don't know why I bother!" Wilson complained, exasperated as he got back in the bed.

"I don't know why you bother either." Agreed House. He flinched as a section of the wall was flung at him. He flung another pillow back.

"I feel like a teenage girl." Wilson admitted when the pillow fight had calmed down.

"I always feel like a teenage girl."

Wilson gave House 'the look'.

"Okay, maybe not quite in the same sense you meant." The diagnostician added with a smirk.

Wilson felt around for another pillow to hurl at him, determined not to surrender the one resting beneath his head, when his hand grabbed House's good thigh. He pulled it back instantly as House remarked,

"Would you mind not groping me in the dark?"

"Do you want me to put the light on?" Wilson teased, trying not to think about what it had felt like to have House's skin beneath his fingertips: warm, slightly rough; but not as strange as it should have been.

Wilson jumped in alarm as House reached over him, alarmingly close to his face, before switching on the lamp on Wilson's side.

"I knew you'd be blushing and I couldn't resist." He explained with a grin.

Then before he was aware of what he was doing, before he could stop himself, Wilson had eased himself up and closed the gap between them; sealing his lips on House's.

There was silence as neither man moved, and then Wilson relaxed and fell back on the pillow.

"Now you're blushing." He commented, trying to keep the situation light; hoping that the other man wouldn't notice that his eyes were pleading for House to kiss him back.

House did notice.

Still perched above the oncologist, House silently swept his hand down Wilson's arm, never leaving his eyes. When he moved it back in to climb Wilson's chest, the younger doctor momentarily held his breath as House's talented fingers continued to sweep across his torso, then in one swift move slipped under Wilson's shirt. Instinctively Wilson buckled.

"Should have known you'd like that!" House laughed, removing his hand and rolling back to his side of the bed.

Wilson's breath was coming fast and thick now. Of course House had just been winding him up – how could he have been so stupid to think anything else.

When had he started _wanting _anything else?

Then he knew, with absolute clarity, that the silence had dragged on far too long for Wilson to make a witty retort. So he did the only thing he could think of, and rolled over on top of House and once again brought his lips to meet the other's.

"What the..." House began to mutter, but by opening his mouth Wilson was able to gently slip his tongue in, and then back out to trail along House's bottom lip, tauntingly.

Gone was carefully calculating Wilson; the man who put everyone else first. He finally knew what he wanted and, right here, right now, he was going to take it.

Exploring House's mouth once again, Wilson ran his hands through the older doctor's hair, simultaneously grinding his hips downwards into the body beneath him.

House was trying to figure out just how Wilson was going to turn this into a joke, when he found himself growing hard at the other man's touch.

Wilson smiled as House began to kiss back, running his calloused hands up the oncologist's spine and grabbing the bottom of the T-shirt he found there, breaking off the kiss only momentarily to pull the material off over Wilson's head.

Then House found Wilson's mouth again and thrust his tongue in, in desperation, running his hands over Wilson's bare shoulders and then into the waistband of the other man's boxers.

Wilson gasped as House squeezed his ass cheeks, and then began running kisses down House's jaw and neck, gently biting the flesh on the other man's shoulder; soothing the mark with his warm tongue.

"Wilson?" House murmured, slowly pulling down the other man's boxers completely. "I think this might be hindering our attempts to sleep..."

Wilson grinned at the diagnostician's never-ending ability to be quip, and slipped his hands down the front of House's pants.

_**House M. D.**__ is not mine. Neither are any of the characters. The sex however is entirely my creation – David Shore doesn't seem to have caught on._

_Usually I try to respect my characters' privacy, however fictional they may be, but it is currently four in the morning and House and Wilson were in my head and, luckily for you, now on paper ;)_


End file.
